


Right on Target (So Direct)

by jld_az



Series: Where Have You Been, My Blue-eyed Son [1]
Category: Chronicles of Amber - Roger Zelazny
Genre: (So much banter), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Bisexual Male Character, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rimming, shittalking soldier boys in lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24852127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jld_az/pseuds/jld_az
Summary: Tristan (19) at Arden OFC, learning .. stuff. 😏Title from 'You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go' by Bob Dylan
Series: Where Have You Been, My Blue-eyed Son [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798066
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo... confession time. This piece?  
> \- started out as an exercise in writing m/m under the guise of character study,  
> \- became a self indulgence with a bit of plot, and  
> \- was in danger of developing Actual Story before its inevitable conclusion, but  
> \- truthfully will only ever be a slice-of-life fic (albeit one from a very influential point in time for Tristan).

“Can I blow you?”

Tristan looked up from his casual sprawl, near-empty beer halfway to his lips, and blinked at the young man seated cross-legged on the rug to his left.

“Can you what now?”

Not that he hadn’t heard what had been said. Rather it was such an abrupt address of something that’d been simmering between them since the start of the semester - beneath their exchanges about syllabi or swapping lecture notes, banal conversations on the weather started solely for the opportunity to ogle at close range - that he hitched a bit in processing it.

Ethan ducked his head with a put-upon sigh, then gazed up from under his ridiculously long lashes, smiling wryly.

“I know people don’t think much of my powers of observation,” he said, “but you can’t expect me to believe you have _no idea_ what you look like right now, Tristan.”

Ethan’s voice was almost a full octave lower than usual. It sparked something up under Tristan’s skin; curious, intangible. _Definitely_ worth exploring.

Didn’t stop his dumbass mouth from getting out a smartass retort, though.

“Who showed up unannounced at whose dorm, Ethan?” he asked. “On the hottest day of the year? Knowing full well this building faces the wrong direction for a cross breeze?”

“Fair,” the other nodded, unfazed. “But it being your room and all, you _could_ put a shirt on at any time, and are _choosing_ not to.”

Tristan shrugged and sipped his beer, playing at ‘nonchalant’ even though his chest was thrumming with sudden adrenaline. The blonde canted forward, and walked his hands out in front of him as he shifted onto his knees, closing a bit of distance.

“Anyone ever told you you’re an insufferable flirt, Rozenberg?” Ethan’s tone was light, amused; but also interested, and a little trepidatious. “I mean, I _have_ been reading this right, yes? I’m not treading unexplored territory in offering to suck you off?”

He backed up the question by running his gaze down the expanse of lightly-sweated skin, to the low dip of Tristan’s slacks, with a palpable intent; paused consideringly at the telltale tightening of the fabric just below the brunette's belt. The look that made its way back up Tristan’s body brought a hot flush with it that he felt in his spine.

“I’ve made time with a boy or two,” Tristan admitted, voice a little frail at the edges. “Nothing serious, just getting off.”

“‘Just getting off’,” Ethan repeated, eyes exploring his target as he continued to move in, interpreting the confession as consent. “So, what? Kissing and hand jobs? Little grinding in the hay?”

“Pretty much.” Tristan watched the blonde carefully reach out to take the empty bottle from his loose fingers, and set it aside. “Had a girlfriend for a while, though. Didn’t feel compelled to try more until after we split up.”

“And when was that?”

“About six weeks ago.”

If he thought his reply was perhaps a bit too quick, Ethan’s smirk confirmed it.

“Feeling a little overdue?” the other young man teased, placing his hand on the floor by Tristan’s right side, bridging over him.

Tristan made a rude gesture even as he rested back on his elbows and opened his position; capped it with a wry expression that flashed and faded. Ethan took both with a sublime smirk as he settled on one hip, caging Tristan in with his torso. The blonde leaned to, stopping just shy of nose-to-nose, and for a long beat all Tristan could focus on was the thin ring of blue around wide-blown pupils; the half-moon sweep of his lashes.

Then he was shifting up slightly to close the gap, tilting his chin to slot their lips together, and yeah .. _yeah._ He still liked this, the rough prickle of growth brushing against his skin; the sturdy press of a thicker chest than his weighing him down. It was a different energy from what he experienced with girls — no more or less pleasant; just sharper, darker, with broad strokes and heavy relief.

When Ethan gripped the back of his neck and coaxed his mouth open, the first hot swipe of his tongue was incendiary. The tatters of Tristan’s feigned cool burned away; left him achingly hard and whimpering as he ground up against the ridges of his fly, which pulled a thrilled little moan from the young man poised over him.

“Is that a ‘yes’, then?” Ethan mumbled against his lips. Tristan sagged back onto his elbows, nodding emphatically.

“ _Fuck_ yes,” he groaned, lit up with anticipation. Because that mouth could _do things_ and his relationship with Neeley had been off for a while before they’d called an end to it so yeah, he was ‘a little overdue’.

Ethan was straddling his shins in an instant, undoing Tristan’s trousers with delighted intent writ all over his features.

“I’m going to make this so good for you,” he said, tugging eagerly at the waistband of Tristan’s layers until he lifted his hips, hands gripping the blonde’s thick forearms for stability. “Ever had another guy suck your cock before?”

The question turned his head inside out. “Fuck, the _mouth_ on you, Forsythe.”

Ethan met his gaze with a devilish grin.

“We’ll work up to that,” he purred, fingers finally closing around him, then lips, then mouth, and the sound Tristan made was positively _lewd_. His head hit the rug with a dull thud.

And the thing was, while he’d reason to believe Ethan’s experience in this department extended much further than his, he also knew first hand the power of using pure bravado to cover one’s shortcomings. So when it came to expectations re: sex, Tristan tended to err on the side of patience — technique could be coached, after all, if enthusiasm was already there.

This, though…

This was the first time he’d been able to drop in and enjoy someone new from the onset. Which was thrilling and devastating and ramped him up so fast he _almost_ wanted to cry. Instead he flung an arm over his eyes, ground his head into the rug, and resisted the desperate urge to thrust up into the wet friction drawing on him.

But then Ethan’s palms were sliding up his sides, long fingers curling around his ribs; he was carefully pulling off, and laying Tristan out along his stomach as he did. The appendage landed thickly in the thin trail of hair below his navel with a faint _pap_ , and he whined behind his bitten lips.

“Relax, T,” Ethan cooed, gripping the jut of the brunette’s hips and coaxing him into a slow undulation. The rough glide of the other young man’s chin as he slowly dragged it up the underside of Tristan’s length was _maddening_. “You’re not going to hurt me, and I’ll tell you if you do something I don’t like.”

“Sorry,” Tristan croaked in reply. He lifted his arm to find Ethan waiting to meet him, and felt his expression crease in a rueful smile. “You’re .. uh .. really good at that.”

The blonde had every right to look smug at the complement, given how close to wrecked he already felt. Tristan rotated his shoulder, moved the arm that was over his eyes to behind his head, and tried to settle as Ethan continued to manipulate his hips. Only-

“Bet you would be, too,” the blonde replied, voice in that low register again, his focus locked on Tristan’s mouth. “Pout like that. Goddess. _Made_ to suck cock.”

He twitched hard enough in response to lift up from his stomach a few inches, and fuck if Ethan wasn’t poised to catch it like he goddamn _knew_ that was going to happen, and _double fuck_ the sudden tight wet suction down to the root of him was enough to stop Tristan’s breath.

But then the head in his lap was moving with determination; had him rolling his eyes at the ceiling, mouth agape, fist in the rug because Ethan’s hair was too short and he was arching up _up-_

“fuckfuckfuckEthanI’m”

-firm hands forced his hips down to the floor; pinned him there while the mouth around him made a deliberate swallow.

Tristan’s gasp hitched in his throat when he came; clicked and hung suspended there as sensation flared, scalding, then tempered into a heady pulse. When he could draw breath again, Ethan was nursing him through the aftershocks with such soothing movements, he was still half-hard in the other young man’s mouth. It was a contented feeling that slowly edged toward too much only moments before Ethan traded out his mouth for his hand, gave a few lazy pulls, then carefully laid Tristan out across his thigh, gently placing a kiss on the opposite side.

“Well that was fun,” he said, folding his arms across Tristan’s groin and resting his chin on top, smiling coyly.

Tristan finally let go of the rug, flicking his wrist and clenching his fist a couple times to work the tension out of his fingers. “I’d be all for returning the favour sometime,” he confessed to the air, still slightly winded. “Or, y’know, other things.”

Ethan perked up. “Oh, you have no idea,” he purred, then rose onto his hands and rocked forward so they were face-to-face, his expression mischievous. “We haven’t even gotten to the Good Stuff yet.”

His eyes flicked to Tristan’s mouth, like he wanted to kiss him but was thinking twice about it in light of recent activities. The odd courtesy made Tristan laugh, then tug Ethan down and kiss him instead; deep, unconcerned. Ethan tilted him a bemused look when they pulled apart. Tristan thumbed his lower lip with a chuckle.

“If you think I don’t know what I taste like, you must not think too highly of my ex-girlfriends and the impact of ‘returning the favour’,” he said.

Ethan considered that a moment, then laughed.

“That’s fair,” he conceded, kissing Tristan again, quick and deep. “But we should stow this for now. You need to air this place out before your roommate gets back.”

“No chance,” Tristan shook his head. “He’ll know. And he’ll give me shit about clawing up the rug. But maybe next time we do this at yours, yeah?”

“As you like.” Ethan rolled to his feet, a dancer’s grace, and offered Tristan a hand. Tristan wormed around a moment to hike his pants up, then accepted.

“So, uh…” He trailed off, absently buttoning his fly before continuing, almost shyly, “See you in labs, later?”

Ethan laughed, and hauled him in for a quick kiss. “Put a shirt on, you menace,” he said.

Tristan shoved him playfully at the door. “Need a shower now, asshole,” he replied. “Get the fuck out.”

There was a brief pause at the threshold when Ethan ducked back around the door for one last look, grinning broad and gleeful.

“We are going to have so much fun,” he promised.

Tristan beamed back, believing him. “Get. Out.”

Ethan made an obscene gesture, then disappeared into the hall.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Ethan ate him out, he lost an hour.

That’s not to say Tristan dissociated (a concept he’d recently learned about in his psych course, which had itself been a whim enrollment but was genuinely piquing his interest three weeks in). Rather he drifted above himself for a while, thin and vaporous because he needed the infinite space in order to _feel_ _everything_ , and trusted the thick arms bracketing his hips to keep him tethered to reality.

It was bliss. When Ethan had manhandled him into an acceptable position and assumed his task, the feeling that had surrounded Tristan was bliss. Which was new, and more than a little fascinating to discover considering how much fooling around they’d done over the past fortnight.

So there he was - face down on the bed, arms at his sides, knees akimbo beneath him - as Ethan meted out long, broad strokes across his perineum; pressed over his hole and probed, gentle but insistent, until the muscle relaxed enough that he could bury his tongue inside and close his lips and-

“… _fuuuuck._ ”

Tristan’s voice was a dry, unrecognizable croak. His tongue felt coated in sandpaper, like he’d been panting, openmouthed, since the dawn of time. Behind him, Ethan chuckled. The end of the bed sagged under his added weight.

“Back with us, sugar?” he purred, playfully sinking his teeth into the meat of Tristan’s left asscheek, then soothing the spot with a palm before giving it an equally-playful slap.

Tristan jolted slightly, realizing several things at once: the pillow under his face was damp, and he was wringing sweat; his legs were no longer folded beneath him, but they were still spread wide and throbbed with a dull, not unpleasant ache; and there was a slightly-tacky, quickly-cooling wet spot in the sheet beneath his deflated cock. He lifted up onto his elbows, hollowing his back to look over his shoulder at Ethan.

“What the fuck just happened?” he asked.

The blonde grinned puckishly as he crawled his way up Tristan’s body, blanketing the other young man with arms braced to either side of his torso, hemming him in.

“Fun,” Ethan replied with a decisive lilt, dropping a kiss to the cap of Tristan’s shoulder, gazes locking.

Tristan smelled spearmint, which meant Ethan had brushed his teeth. It was perplexing, and his face creased to reflect that.

“How long was I out?”

“After you came? About three minutes.” Ethan plucked a quick kiss from Tristan’s slack lips, then swooped away and rolled gracefully off of the bed.

Tristan pondered that a moment, trying to unspool the past few hours as his brain resumed higher functions. Once he put effort into it, he could remember the sequence of events quite clearly — the kissing / groping / undressing, the tumble into bed and grinding together; the steamy breath in his ear making an offer; the heated thrum beneath his skin that backed his consent-

“Hey, sunshine.”

He blinked to attention. Ethan was poking his shoulder with one finger, the others wrapped around a glass of water on offer. Tristan glanced at it, then up at the young man standing next to the bed; watched his Adam's apple bob as he worked on draining his own glass.

“Thanks,” Tristan replied, shifting onto his back and sitting up before accepting.

As he drank, he watched Ethan stride naked across the suite to retrieve the pitcher, all lithe muscle and narrow hips and broad shoulders and dancer’s grace (fuck he really was nice to look at) and wondered - perhaps for the first cognizant time - what exactly _This_ was.

“Are we dating?” he asked.

Ethan belted a laugh as he refilled his glass, then held the pitcher out to do the same for Tristan’s.

One brown eyebrow arched up quizzically. “Is that a ‘no’?”

“It’s a ‘I think your _actual_ boyfriend might have a serious problem with that’,” Ethan replied, sitting askance on the edge of the bed as he set the pitcher on the nightstand.

“What the fuck, E,” Tristan laughed, thumping the blonde’s dense bicep with the side of a fist. “Do you honestly think I’d be _here_ , doing this with _you_ , if Leo and I-”

“Don’t have to be fucking someone to be their boyfriend, T,” Ethan cut across him, mild but firm.

Tristan folded a knee up and rested an arm on top, considering the perception baldly and trying not to get defensive about it. Realized as he did how little he knew about Ethan outside of a sexual capacity, and that seemed like a bit of negligence on his part.

“Do you have siblings?” he asked as he sat upright again, casting a sideways glance toward the blonde. When he received a head shake in response, Tristan continued, “I assume you have _other_ family, though. Cousins and such?”

Ethan went a little inward a moment, then nodded. “A few,” he admitted. “So I guess I understand the dynamic, even if I didn’t experience it firsthand.”

“Leo and I have known each-other since we were seven,” Tristan explained. “We’ve shared dorms since we were nine. We’ve each grown up in the other’s pocket, so to speak, and I probably know him as well as I know myself at this point.” He shrugged, and smiled. “He’s my brother, and I love him for it. But that’s all it’ll ever be.”

Ethan was silent for a long, long moment. Then he set his glass on the nightstand, and took Tristan’s away to do the same.

“So what you’re saying is…” And his voice was sultry low, smooth as aged whiskey, sparking every nerve under every inch of Tristan’s skin. “What you’re saying is you’re over the overture, and ready for the show to begin?”

He pushed Tristan’s knee aside in order to wrap a hand around his hip, leaning in almost predatorily. Tristan huffed, and felt the blowback of his own breath off of the other young man’s face, he had moved so close.

“I promise, Ethan. As your boyfriend, I will make an effort to understand your theatre-speak.”

“I should hope so,” Ethan said, decisive, lips crushing, prying Tristan’s apart.

The energy was heated, but not fraught. They made out in a series of deep kisses and possessive gropes, squirming around until their positions evolved and Tristan was sprawled on his belly with Ethan supine at his side, one knee on the bed, one foot still resting on the floor. Torso propped in the V of Ethan’s hip, left ankle hooked over the bicep of the arm whose fingers were three-deep inside him, thrusting in time to the slide of his lips over the cock in his mouth, opposite the roll of his hips rutting his own erection into the mattress, he was teetering on that edge of bliss again when-

“-you .. fuck .. wanna .. can .. goddessyour _mouth_ though _fuckTristan_ -”

The fingers inside him curled down, pressed against the spot that sparked him up like kindling, and Tristan pulled off with a strangled gasp.

“Yes,” he yelped. Then let his forehead fall against his crooked elbow, his other hand stroking in place of his mouth; palming the head before tightening and resuming pace. “Fuck, yes. Please. Want.”

Ethan’s fingers withdrew, and he detangled himself from Tristan’s leg lock to sit up on the edge of the bed. When he tried and failed twice to reach the nightstand drawer with Tristan’s ministration still underway however, he fell back again with a desperate moan.

“Gonna make me come, T.” His slick hand dug into the curve of his partner’s ass, digits walking toward his opening. The brunette pressed into the touch with a low whine, then gave one last lick-and-pull before perching up on his haunches.

“Lay back,” Ethan said, successfully retrieving what he needed from the drawer. When Tristan made to assume a face-down position, Ethan stopped him with a hand on the hip. “Nonono,” he coaxed, palm smoothing across Tristan’s stomach, up along his sternum, and pressing him back into the sheets as Ethan crawled onto the bed. “I want to see you when I do this.”

Then he was tearing open a prophylactic with his teeth and rolling it on. He was kneeling between Tristan’s legs, and hitching Tristan’s knees up over his hips, and supporting them there with wide-spread thighs as he took Tristan’s cock in hand which-

“ _Not_ what I was expecting,” he gasped, arching off the bed slightly with the cool, slick touch.

Ethan leaned down, dropped the bottle of lubricant just within reach, and planted his freed hand at Tristan’s side; grinned devilishly as he gave a long, slow pull.

“Just making sure you’re still here, Rozenberg,” he jibed.

“Is that a commentary on my level of participation, Forsythe?” Tristan shot back. “Because I’m pretty sure you were extolling the virtues of my mouth not ten minutes ago.”

But it felt like something serious was hovering under the shittalk, and he wasn’t sure how to soothe it out into the open. So he rose up a bit and persuaded Ethan into a kiss, curling a hand across the back of his head to lock him in, turning it dirty and grinding up into the other young man’s fist before dropping away, then rakishly folded an arm behind his head, and continued his slow gyration against the mattress. Ethan smirked in return, and rose to the bait, grip tightening at the challenge. Tristan’s eyes rolled back with a full-throated groan, and his other hand reached up to clutch the blonde’s elbow.

“I like that you drift,” Ethan finally said. “It’s flattering, if I’m being honest. But I need you here, at least to start, because you’re going to have to communicate with me-”

“Fuck, Ethan," Tristan laughed. "You’re talking like I’m a goddamn _virgin bride_ , here!”

Ethan gave him a blank look, eyebrows rising slowly as though waiting for Tristan to figure something out, and growing more surprised the longer he didn’t.

“What?” Tristan finally prodded.

“You been steppin’ out on me?” Ethan punctuated the question with a wickedly perfect twist of his wrist, wrenching a guttural moan out of the brunette beneath him. “Did some other prick get to peg you first, and you never told me?”

“No, but how many fingers have you had up my ass at this point?” Tristan countered, slightly breathless. Then, as an aside, “And I know you’re just joking, but for the record, I would never.”

Ethan met his gaze, softening a little. “And I would never assume you to be the type,” he returned, strokes loosening to something almost intimate. “But thank you, and likewise.”

They kissed for a while, and Ethan’s hand slowly migrated south to slide three fingers back into him, slick and delicious and absolutely _not enough_ because he and Ethan were of a like size - slightly above average, far from intimidating - so he knew intimately the dimensions of what was coming next and-

“Oh,” Tristan said, pulling away with sudden clarity. “Width versus length.”

“ _There_ it is,” Ethan chuckled, digits stroking around his prostate and making him lurch upward. “So, be present. Understand?”

“Yes,” Tristan hissed back. “Yes, fuck. Yes. I’m here.”

“Good.”

Ethan’s fingers withdrew, and then he was folding Tristan’s arm around his neck, clutching his shoulder with his dry hand before aiming at his target with the other. Ethan looked up then, but the intensity of meeting that dark blue gaze was too much, and Tristan rolled his eyes back with a bitten hiss when Ethan breached his rim and inched forward as far as his fingers had stretched, then hesitated.

“Talk to me,” the blonde prompted, giving Tristan’s shoulder a small squeeze. His voice was thick with restraint, muscles taut from it.

“Don’t stop,” Tristan heaved, crunching upward and then hauling Ethan down into a searing kiss.

Every fiber of him was alight, chasing a fullness he’d no idea he was craving; trembling for it as the young man above him - _inside_ him - slipped agonizing inches deeper until he was fully seated, and Tristan’s knees were spread over Ethan’s thighs; butterflied, pegged down.

Words were being murmured in his ear. He could not make them out for the ringing. Time held its breath until he made himself nod: Ok.

Then Ethan moved, and the pendulum of Tristan’s awareness slowly shifted until everything was driving toward its natural conclusion at breakneck speed — body rising to meet the other’s thrusts, contraction and impact punching out little ‘ah’s of pleasure from his slack mouth, cock trapped and weeping between dueling frictions and it was so much _sososomuch_ but also Not Enough-

He reached down between them, but Ethan batted him away and wrapped a hand around him instead, rolled his hips with a practiced snap as he palmed over the head before stripping down, and Tristan came like a shot, painting white stripes across their bellies with a drawn-out bilingual curse. Ethan’s actions instantly lost their controlled rhythm, and he stuttered to a halt at full depth a few abbreviated thrusts later; buried his face in the other young man’s neck as his own release pulsed to completion.

Tristan floated there for some time, luxuriating in post-orgasmic euphoria, weighted down by the bulk of his boyfriend - _boyfriend?_ \- draped over him like some beefy towheaded quilt until the compound of sweat and spunk between them began to congeal uncomfortably, by which point Ethan had gone flaccid and slipped free. The blonde rolled to the right with a huff of exertion, lazily stripped off the condom, knotted the open end with a twist, and dropped it without looking into the bin tucked between the bed and the wall.

“Still with me, Rozenberg?” he asked, stretching out on his side facing Tristan, head propped on his fist.

“… _fuuuuck_ ,” Tristan replied. Speaking reeled him into reality though, and he swiveled his head across the pillow to squint at Ethan. “I’m _starving_.”

As if saying something was the trigger, he heard Ethan’s stomach rumble in solidarity. They both looked at the clock on the nightstand.

“Chow line opens soon,” Ethan said. Tristan shrugged.

“Or we could go off campus,” he suggested. “Maybe Southport?”

“What, like on a _date_?”

“…Yes?”

The room fell silent for a stretch. Tristan turned his head to find Ethan staring at him, looking bemused.

“ _Really?_ ” the blonde prodded.

“I feel like I should know more about you than I do, considering how we spend our free time,” Tristan confided. “And honestly, I’d like to see if there might be more to this than a Mentorship in Homo. Wouldn’t you?”

Ethan snorted, repeating ‘Mentorship in Homo’ with a wry lilt as he smoothed a hand up Tristan’s chest, eventually leaning in for a kiss.

“As you like, boyfriend,” he said. “You wanna shower first, or shall I?”

“You go,” Tristan replied between presses of lips. “I don’t think I can trust myself to move yet.”

The blonde scoffed as he crawled over his partner’s prone form, and stepped off the bed. “Flatterer.”

Tristan slapped his ass on its way over. “Get used to it, doll. I’m all about the ego stroke.”

“All about the _something_ stroke,” Ethan muttered lasciviously, sauntering backwards toward the en suite, taunting Tristan with an impish grin when he caught the other young man watching. “ _How_ hungry are you?”

Tristan folded an arm behind his head, and huffed at the ceiling.

After the shower started to run though, he sat up on the edge of the bed - tender, but nothing he couldn’t ignore - and finished his glass of water; refiled, then drained it again.

Then he got to his feet, confirmed his legs were sturdy, and unabashedly joined Ethan behind the curtain.


	3. Chapter 3

_“Maybe an elective Lit course for Third Block,” Leo suggested, printing careful lines of text onto the six-day schedule in front of him. “I really enjoyed that Intro to Military Symbolism we took at ARMA. Whatcha think?”_

_Tristan hummed a distant affirmation, muttering something like ‘yeah you should do that’ because he was only partly paying attention. His eyes kept roving over to the Enrollment line, and the blonde with the incredibly distracting shoulder-to-hip taper standing in it. Fuck, Ethan Forsythe had_ _changed_ _over the summ-_

_“You know he’s just been marking time, right?”_

_Tristan roused himself with a little shake; turned in his seat to find his friend casting a sour look toward the queue of people._

_“Someone who_ _wanted_ _to be here got waitlisted because he used his Legacy status for admission, but only after he was waitlisted by some Conservatory in Begma.” _

_Tone alone conveyed how Young Lord Balfax felt about that, but the hard-jawed chin-jab which accompanied the statement made Tristan bristle just a bit._

_“Ok but that was_ _three_ _years_ _ago_ _, Leo,” he rebutted. “So whoever they were, they’ve been here two years now. And at this point, unless there’s a mid-term shake-up in his favour, Ethan will graduate with us next spring. So maybe-”_

_Leo was gawking at him, eyes wide._

_“Oh shit,” he blurted. Then cast a quick glance around, and lowered his voice. “_ _That’s_ _what does it for you?”_

_“I don’t know, maybe?” Tristan scrubbed the back of his neck with one hand, and rolled a furtive sideways look Ethan’s direction. “Sometimes?”_

_Leo sat back, frowning thoughtfully at nowhere. Then he shook his head and returned to his schedule._

_“I think you can do better, T,” he stated. “But if you’re looking for someone with experience, I gather you could do much worse.”_

Yes _, Tristan’s libido immediately supplied._ Experience. We want that.

_“So, Lit course. Yay or nay?”_

_“I think I’m going to sign up for Psychology,” Tristan said, taking a drink of his coffee. Leo threw his head back and gripped his pencil in a tight fist._

_“For fuck’s sake, Tristan. That was permission to ask him to Mentor you in Homo, not to tie your GPA to his dick.”_

_Tristan sputtered into his cup. “Wow, crude,” he cough-laughed, knowing the comment came from a place of long-established brotherhood. “And fuck you very much. You know me better than that.”_

_Leo shot him a sidelong ‘hrmph’, and resumed writing into Block Three:_ Military Symbolism 201.

_“It could be helpful, from a future Command standpoint,” Tristan supplied. He didn’t need Leo’s approval on this, but would appreciate his friend’s understanding at the very least. "Half of leadership is recognizing an individual’s strengths, then tapping into them to get the results you want. But I think the other half is being able to recognize someone's obstacles, then providing the tools they need to either get past or cope with them. A psych course or two under my belt…”_

_He trailed off with a shrug, almost dismissive; watched Leo consider this, then nod._

_“Fair,” he finally said. “And if that’s the reason, then you should_ _absolutely_ _do it.” His elbow cocked out casually to tap against the other’s then, and he added, “But don’t think I didn’t notice PFC Forsythe standing in their registration line before he moved over to Enrollment. I_ _do_ _know you better_ _, T_ _.”_

_Tristan ducked his head again, coy for being caught out. Leo gazed down at his paper and frowned._

_“Means we won’t get our Fourth Block Break on Wednesdays, if you do.”_

_“It’s our final year,” Tristan said, clutching Leo’s shoulder as he stood. “Let’s do Fifth Block Fridays, and take a long weekend twice a month instead.”_

_There was a brief hesitation, then,_

_“That’s fucking brilliant,” Leo stated, penciling it in. “Two things then, before you wander off.”_

_Tristan paused in finishing his coffee. “Those being?”_

_“Please respect our shared space, and don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Leo glanced up after that, grudging in his acceptance. “Good hunting.”_

* * *

“So you already knew,” Ethan responded to the lack of reaction, taking the acceptance letter from Juniper Cove Conservatory back from Tristan’s lax fingers before adding, “Not that I’ve made any secret about it. It’s where I’ve meant to study all along-”

“Oh, no. I get it.” Tristan was unfailing in his affirmation there. Ethan was good - _really_ good - and while Arden OFC was providing him a quality education, he was never going to be a career soldier. “I’m just a bit rocked, y’know? I mean .. how’s this going to work? _Is_ this going to work?”

And oooh, the face his boyfriend made. Tristan recognized that face.

“I don’t know if it can, T.” The blonde carefully folded the letter between his fingers, gaze dropping to the motions, voice dipping low. “Mid-year transfer .. my life is about to get _very_ complicated, trying to catch up to my peers before summer break.”

Tristan nodded slowly, eyes downcast as he watched the letter move from Ethan’s off hand to the desk.

“Yeah. And the logistics between here and Begma are a fucking _nightmare_.”

“Shit, I forgot about-”

Ethan cut off when Tristan huffed a humorless laugh. Neeley had been from Begma, which ran on a clock almost the complete opposite to Amber’s, and while it hadn’t exactly been their death nell, it’d certainly contributed.

Fingers light against his cheek; a delicate brush, asking his attention. Tristan looked up. Ethan looked resigned.

“I’m sorry, T,” he offered.

The brunette let out a wry bark, and felt instantly better for it. His hand wrapped around the other young man’s nape, and pulled him in for a quick kiss.

“You’re not breaking my heart or anything, E,” he said when they parted. “I’m actually pretty excited for you, and I’d much rather celebrate than be sad about something that we both know wasn’t made for the long haul.”

“It really wasn’t, was it?”

There was a rare tilt to Ethan’s lips, and Tristan felt a small pang of melancholy for it. He shrugged one shoulder with an equally slanted, self-deprecating smile.

“You’d _hate_ being a Military Husband, I think.”

It was Ethan’s turn to laugh. He did so with a great outburst of relief.

“Your humility would be _exhausting_ if it weren’t so fucking _genuine_ ," he managed into it, gripping the back of Tristan’s neck and moving him close to nuzzle along his jaw. “You have no idea how happy I am, right now.”

In response to that, Tristan slid a palm down over Ethan’s firming bulge.

“Ok,” the blonde conceded. “You might have _some_ idea.”

An affirming hum, followed by, “I’m serious, E. We should cel-”

The point of a tongue traced up his carotid, and Tristan briefly lost speech.

“Yes,” Ethan provided into the breathy pause, lips brushing his ear. “We _should_.”

The kiss was heated but measured, heavy and drawn-out, and Tristan was aware of Ethan guiding him toward the bed, but only tangentially. He’d been worming his fingers past the other young man’s fly - working to access the hard, warm flesh behind - and when he succeeded, he wrapped it up in his fist instead; gave a deliberate stroke-and-squeeze that made his partner press forward with a growl.

Clothes were discarded. Lube was located. Fingers made fast work of opening him up and Tristan eventually found himself with his ankles over Ethan’s shoulders, being drilled into the mattress at a sharp downward angle that had him nearly roaring behind his teeth until-

“Waitwaitwait.”

Tristan’s brow furrowed as Ethan sat back; actually whined a little when the blonde unfolded him and slipped out.

“E?”

It was as far as he got. In the next breath, Tristan had been tugged upright, and Ethan had fallen downward, and now he was straddling those narrow hips with their cocks slotted together — equal measure, bare against slick-streaked not.

“Ride me,” Ethan said.

Tristan’s whole body seized up in wonder. “Say again?”

Ethan grabbed his ass in two great fistfuls, and tugged him forward.

“C’mon, Buckden Boy,” the blonde taunted beneath him. “Show me what you got.”

“You’re fucking _terrible_ ,” Tristan chuckled.

But he was already rising up, and sliding back down with a lip-bitten moan. He set a slow cantering motion, and let himself sink into the exquisite fullness of it; let his head loll back, then drop forward as his mount began rising to meet him. Canter accelerated to gallop, and his palms curled around thick biceps for stability when Ethan’s knees bent up behind him, just before his partner began pistoning into him with almost ferocious intensity.

“Fuuuuc-”

Tristan’s throat constricted on the tail end of the word, suspended like the rest of his body above this delicious assault to his prostate. He came untouched, lacing white across washboard abs as the world faded around him; only vaguely cognizant of Ethan’s eventual cessation, and the throb inside him that accompanied.

Tristan made a slow fall forward, careless of the mess he’d created over Ethan’s stomach. He let his arms stretch down by their sides, and pillowed his face between his boyfriend’s - _boyfriend’s?_ \- ample pectorals.

“I’m gonna miss this,” Ethan rumbled after a time.

“Lotta life left to live,” Tristan replied. “Who knows. We could circle back ‘round this way again, somewhere down the line.”

Beneath him, Ethan huffed. “Sap.”

Tristan’s grin was half-hindered by its press against the other young man’s chest. “Not the first time I’ve been called that.”

“Got news for ya, sunshine: Prob’ly won’t be the last.”

Eventually Tristan dismounted, and disposed of the condom on Ethan’s behalf. The two lay side-by-side for a moment before the brunette spoke up.

“So when do you leave?”

“Day after tomorrow.” The mattress shifted as Ethan scruffed a hand through his hair, then folded the arm behind his head. “If I get settled in over Yule Hols, I’ll be able to jump right into classes after.”

“Smart,” Tristan nodded. “Good strategy.”

“Thanks, Sarge.”

He snorted. “That’s a pretty big leap from PFC, Forsythe.”

Between them, Ethan thumped the side of a loose fist against his thigh.

“C’mon, T. You know you’ll make Captain by thirty.”

“Goddess willing and the crick don’t rise.” Pause, then, “Need help packing?”

“Ma’s sending people.” Small hitch, followed by, “Do you feel sad, now?”

“A little.” Tristan stared at the ceiling, for lack of desire to shift his gaze. “It’s never easy, right? Watching the end of something close in?”

The pillow in his periphery shifted with Ethan’s head shake. “No. Not really.”

“Then before this gets awkward, I want to thank you.”

It was a small moment before Ethan rose up onto his elbow, and looked down at Tristan.

“For the ‘Mentorship in Homo’?” He was grinning broad, affecting a man with no concerns. “If I never told you how fucking funny that was, by the way, I should have.”

“I wish I could take credit, but Leo said it first.” Tristan sat up, and dropped his knees over the side of the bed. He looked back at Ethan. “But yeah. For .. all of it. I don’t know if I’d have considered taking that class, if not for the ridiculously undersized shirt you were wearing on Registration day. Now I’m writing my Senior Thesis on it. So .. yeah. Thanks.”

Ethan sat up then, and bent close.

“You are a good man, Tristan Rozenberg. Don’t ever forget that.” The blonde kissed the cap of his shoulder, and raised a rakish eyebrow. “And it was, without a doubt, _absolutely_ my pleasure.”


	4. epilogue

The walk back to his dorm felt .. foggy. Not entirely present. _Dissociative_ , his brain supplied, and putting a name to it helped bring him back to rights again. _Damn,_ but he should’ve taken that course soo-

“Shit!”

He bounced off someone, and made a quick grab to keep either of them from falling. Aunna laughed into his chest.

“Wow, boy. Where’s _your_ head at?”

“What the fuck,” he spoke over her, glancing around for additional obstacles. “Where did you come from?”

His sister shrugged as he let her go. “Just catching up with a friend. You ok?”

“Yeah,” he replied back, reflexive. Then, “Actually, no. Ethan’s leaving for Begma. Wanna get drinks?”

“Seriously?” Aunna looked mildly stunned, then shrugged. “Sure. Meet me at The Hill in twenty?”

Tristan gave a curt nod. “Done.”

His sister stepped around him with a curious eye, and proceeded to her own dorm. Tristan entered his building, took the steps to the second storey, and opened the door to his room at the end of the hall.

“Hey, Leo. I jus-”

His friend bolted upright and flipped a corner of the sheet to cover himself, blue eyes startled wide, and at first Tristan thought he’d walked in at an inopportune moment when he realized-

He dropped his chin, and rolled a look of sublime disapproval at Leo.

“I don’t know _what_ happened, man,” Lord Balfax offered in his defense. “I came home, and she was just .. _here_.”

Sucking his teeth, Tristan crossed the room, and opened the window to the cold winter evening. He hung his head out of it, and resisted the urge to bellow into the sunset. Took several deep breaths instead, and turned to his friend.

“Ethan is going to Begma. I’m going to The Hill.” His gaze dropped to meet Leo’s. “With Aunna.”

Leo balked slightly. “Oh.”

“Do you want to join us?” Tristan asked, grudging in his acceptance.

**Author's Note:**

> That's it. And damn, that was fun.
> 
> The real meat of Tristan's story continues in the 'Where Have You Been, My Blue-eyed Son' series, beginning with 'A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall'.
> 
> Kudos are love :) Comments are moderated (for spam, not content), but always welcome. :)


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